Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Maria, I say!- a stoop of wine! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?1 2 Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is a sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith! Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 1 Loggerheads be. Mistress. Voice. I did impetticoat thy gratuity. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians: Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood! Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. O the twelfth day of December,-[Sing Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!" Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good sir Toby Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die. [Singing. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale! Clo. Yes, by saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria! Name of an old song. Romancer. Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favor at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night: since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me: What o'that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. -Thou hadst need 1 Bye-word. The row of grass left by a mower. * Amazon. Inform us. • Fool. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. - A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. Duke. Give me some music: - Now, good morrow, friends: Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music. Come hither, boy: If ever thou shalt love, Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves; Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favor. Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i'faith? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN. Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night : Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, sir? Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. • Simple truth. [Music. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, To weep there. Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal.-I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place. [Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, That nature pranks' her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 'Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, And can digest as much: make no compare Vio. Ay, but I know, Duke. What dost thou know? Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK, and FABIAN. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favor with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue:- Shall we not, sir Andrew? Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter MARIA. Sir To. Here comes the little villain:-How now, my nettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behavior to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter.] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. "Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: Sir To. Peace, I say. Mal. To be count Malvolio; Sir To. Ah, rogue! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace! Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, • As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought: And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, * Decks. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in, look, how imagination blows him. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone! Fab. O, peace, peace! Mal. And then to have the humor of state: and after a demure travel of regard, -telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby: Sir To. Bolts and shackles! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech: Sir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkenness. Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight: Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool. [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him! Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question her hand. Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why that? Mal. [Reads.] To the unknown beloved, this and my good wishes: her very phrases! -By your leave, wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be? Fab. This wins him, liver and all. Lips do not move, No man must know. No man must know. - What follows? the numbers Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock!" But silence, like a Lucrece knife, could make that resemble something in me, Softly!-M, O, A, I Sir To. O, ay! make up that; - he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. Mal. M, Malvolio; - M, -why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults. Mal. M.-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel: that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. Fab. And O shall end, I hope. Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, О. Mal. And then I comes behind ; Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you. Mal. M, O, A, I; -This simulation is not as the former:-and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft, here follows prose:- If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, The fortunate-unhappy. Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice', the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being crossgartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised!Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear Fab. A fustian riddle! Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Nay, but first let me see,-let me see, let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!" Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this;-And the end, -What should that alphabetical position portend? If I my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have [Exit. me. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. Sir And. So could I too. Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest. * Badger. 2 Hawk. 3 Flies at it. Enter MARIA. Sir And. Nor I neither. Skin of a snake. Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond slave? Sir And. I'faith, or I either. Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? SCENE I-Olivia's Garden. ACT III. Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor. Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou live by thy tabor? Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman? Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age!-A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? • A boy's diversion, three and trip. Kid. [Exeunt. Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to her whence you come: who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the word is over-worn. [Exit. Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well, craves a kind of wit. He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labor as a wise man's art: For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE CHEEK. Sir To. Save you, gentleman. Vio. And you, sir. Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented. Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odors on you! Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain odors! well. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. Sir And. Odors, pregnant, and vouchsafed :I'll get 'em all three ready. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and MARIA. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name? See the play of Troilus and Cressida. A hawk not well trained. • Bound, limit. • Ready. |